It Only Hurts When I Laugh
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: Following the events of A Cup of Kindness, Darien faces the consequences of running off and now must make the hardest decision of his life. Virtual Season episode 5.01.


It Only Hurts When I Laugh

 _The end justifies the means._ This is not the entire quote, by the way, but it is, of course, the part most remembered. _'The first sign of corruption in a society that is still alive is that the end justifies the means.'_

And the society I lived in had fallen into that pit a long, _long_ time ago.

They had dragged me right down with them.

Not that I would ever be considered the poster boy for right and honor and justice by any stretch of the imagination. No, I'd gone down that path all on my own when I'd been but a wee lad.

But, see, after recent events I'd begun thinking more along the lines of _'Exitus acta probat,'_ which translates to _'The result justifies the deed.'_

To get the results I wanted, I'd have to commit some truly heinous deeds.

. . .

Arnaud. I had to keep my focus on Arnaud and what he had done to my friend standing beside me. Claire stood on the opposite side mayo cart near to hand with everything needed to do the deed. Gloves, gauze, a large bore needle filled with an opaque substance that would rewrite the code of that extra gland in my brain.

Turning it back into so much Alpo.

I didn't have much longer based on the more recent round of tests so the now or never moment had come and I had resigned myself to the choice.

If I wanted my vengeance I _had_ to live. If I wanted to live I _had_ to do this.

Had to go back to the fear and terror and restrictions and... and learn to live again. Start over one more time after having all the pieces upon the board swept away yet again.

"Darien?"

She sounded concerned as if my life mattered more than the success of the program when we all knew it didn't.

Not to the Official anyway.

Perhaps not even to her any more.

Made sense we'd come back to where it had all started. Same damn operating theater, the damage repaired, the equipment shiny and new, if still second-hand. Hell, they probably had my old bed, complete with restraints ready to go for me once done here.

They didn't trust me. They shouldn't.

I had my own reasons for agreeing and they didn't need to know.

"Let's do this."

. . .

Darien had a vague recollection of a uniformed officer escorting him to the EMTs- he had been covered in blood after all, though none of it his- a blurred ride, complete with lights and sirens, chasing the ambulance that his partner and the Keeper had vanished into, and when all had been said in done he found himself standing in a hospital hallway with all manner of strangers shooting him looks varying from sympathetic to terrified.

He couldn't really blame them. His appearance similar to that from some over-the-top disaster movie. The hero awash in the evidence that the person he'd tried to save probably would not be reappearing in the third act. The officer hovered nearby, but after two attempts to ask questions that Darien could in no way answer with any coherency the man had given up.

Oh, he had the answers, but his mind's eye remained stuffed full with the images of Bobby dropping like a fucking stone when the bullet, most likely fired from the gun of the man he'd been wrestling with, had hit him in the back.

He shivered in the overly air-conditioned hallway and rubbed a shaky hand across his face, feeling a day or more worth of stubble under his palm. Then, of course, he again made note of the dark red stains smeared on his skin. His legs trembled, no longer willing to support his weight, but instead of collapsing to the cold tile floor he stumbled back into the nearest wall, not wanting to risk drawing any more attention than he already had. The officer kept a gimlet eye on him, as if concerned he might run.

Everything had fallen to pieces and he feared there would be no chance to pick them up and put them back together.

He should have just stayed in the Bahamas. Or, to spare Adam the pain, gone into hiding. The cabin in Cold Springs maybe. He doubted anyone would have looked for him there. He doubted anyone cared that much at this point.

A blonde covered in blood appeared before him, hand settling on his upper arm and squeezing tight.

It took him a moment to recognize her. "Claire, how... how is he?" He choked on the words, not wanting to know the answer even if he needed to know. Had he died? Had Bobby been ripped from his life just as surely as so many others had? Had that crazy old man's prediction finally come true and Darien had finally killed his partner?

Claire urged him further from the flow of traffic in the ER, into a comparatively quiet corner amongst the despair and pain that seem to emanate from all those in the room. "He's," she gulped in air, tears, recently dried, staining her cheeks. "He's alive, heading into surgery now. It... he coded twice on the way here. He... There's..." She stopped, her breath hitching in her chest.

Darien didn't need her to finish the sentence, the look on her face, the tone of her voice told him everything. His partner, his friend might not make it.

And it had been his fault.

On so many levels.

If he hadn't run away.

Or if he had just run further.

If he had not been at the airport to meet them. To gloat at Arnaud at their capture of him. If he had just been more observant and questioned more why those men had been there.

He should have known.

He should have fucking known Arnaud would have a plan.

They should have had the entire fucking Agency there waiting for them even if it had meant facing down the Official and taking his punishment right then and there in public.

But no, they'd wanted to protect him. Cover for him. Acted as friends instead of agents and had paid the price.

Possibly the ultimate one in Bobby's case.

Darien swallowed with great difficulty, the whole of reality shifting about him in a dizzying manner. He wanted to spin with it, let the twisting pull of gravity and rotation drag him down, to lie there and just permit it to swallow him whole.

"Darien, are you all right?"

He shook his head, wondering what his Keeper saw that caused such worry in her eyes.

"Will he make it?"

Her glance away from him answer enough.

"I don't know. He's tough and stubborn and we got him through the worst of it in the ER."

"Claire, I-"

"Keeper," a familiar voice bellowed cutting off Darien's words and causing him to flinch hard enough to stumble.

Claire sighed heavily. "Here, sir."

The Official barreled through the crowd trailed by Eberts and several agents.

"Report," he barked at her.

"Hobbes is heading into surgery now. I've received permission to observe," she told her boss, voice tight, but lacking the emotion she had shared with Darien.

"Prognosis?"

"Unknown at this time. He made it to surgery. That's the best sign at the moment."

The muscle in the Official's jaw clenched visibly, rage clearly bubbling just under the surface. "Doctor-"

"I have to go. I still have to scrub in." Without so much as a by your leave, she spun about and rushed back through the double doors that led deeper into the hospital. Only giving me a passing sympathetic glance as she rushed by. His last defender abandoning him to the vicious wolves that surrounded him.

"Fawkes, what the hell happened?"

"Arnaud happened," Darien explained poorly, though at the same time most accurately.

"Fawkes..."

"I guess he managed to get word to his people and they shot up the fucking airport to get him back." His voice rose with each word until damn near shouting.

Every eye in the ER turned to them, patient and employee alike.

"Lower your voice," The Official growled at him.

"Why? It'll be all over the news any moment now. The whole fucking universe will know I got my partner killed."

The Official grabbed Darien by the upper arm and dragged him away choosing a seemingly empty room at random and shoving him inside. In his weakened and exhausted condition, Darien damn near fell, only luck and a well placed and solid cabinet keeping him upright.

"You're damn right it's all your fault."

"Sir," Eberts squawked. He had trailed along like a good toady, but until this moment had done nothing but watch. He had never been the type to intervene, so Darien couldn't help the surprise that he'd even made the slightest effort.

"I'm okay, Eberts," Darien assured him even though those words were the furthest thing from the truth. He had fallen into a circle of hell he'd never even imagined existed.

"Eberts, get Hayes and Grant. Have them escort Agent Fawkes to the cell at the Agency until I can figure out what to do with him."

Darien found some strength at that, standing up straight and fighting the tremors that tried to ripple through every muscle. "No. I gotta be here. Make sure Hobbes-" He choked off the rest of the sentence.

"You will, for once in your godforsaken life, do as you are told," The Official didn't yell, didn't raise his voice, but the power behind the words an undeniable force and it froze Darien in his tracks.

At his seeming acquiescence, the Official waved to Eberts who left the room presumably to get the pair of agents who would be stuck babysitting the pitiful wreck that used to be Darien Fawkes.

. . .

Darien hadn't slept a wink and not because of the surroundings. He had most definitely crashed in worse places in his life, the cell in the basement chilly, but more than serviceable for a night or two. And miles better than the white room.

No, he hadn't been able to enjoy that blissful unconsciousness he so desperately needed simply because every time he drifted under he once again held a dying Bobby Hobbes in his arms.

And every time he screamed himself back to the land of the waking. A new nightmare to haunt his nights for years to come.

Should he live that long.

It would join the one of his brother dying and the now infamous 'hot doughnuts' dream. The first Quicksilver dream he'd ever had.

Not the last, however.

He had no clue if Bobby had even survived the surgery.

Fisk opened the door, Eberts standing in the hallway a duffle bag in his hands.

"Get cleaned up. Boss wants to talk to you." Fisk shoved the bag through the bars to thump on the floor.

"Why?"

"Darien, please, just do it." Eberts managed to sound both sad and commanding at the same time, which made me fear the worst had indeed occurred.

That he had managed to kill my partner. The prediction of that crazy blind man finally coming home to roost. He got to his feet and nodded slowly. "Gimme ten minutes."

Eberts had packed anything he might need, so once they'd left he stripped down and took the fastest and coldest shower of his life. He don't know how Gaither managed to live down here for so many months. Then again how much could he have needed, given he'd trashed most of his senses in an effort to create a warped version of Kevin's grand experiment.

Darien trailed behind Eberts, Fisk right at his back to make certain he didn't perform one of his disappearing acts. Not that he could right about now, too fucking tired to even care at this point. He just wanted to know if Hobbes was alive. They led him to the Official's office, no surprise there, encouraged him to sit in the only chair facing their lord and master's desk. He appeared to be doing paperwork, ignoring Darien as if he hadn't been the one to command his presence here and now.

Fisk left the room. The soft click of the door closing the only sign of his passing. Eberts took up his position to the right of the Official, hands clasped in front of him. The silence stretched for long minutes, the ticking of the clock and the scratch of the pen to paper loud enough to be heard over the buzzing of the fluorescents and the wheezing of the A/C.

Darien shifted, causing the chair to squeak unexpectedly and drawing the Official's steely gaze. His head still down, so his beady little eyes met Darien's over the top of the glasses.

"Care to tell me exactly what you thought you were doing with my property?"

Far as Darien had been concerned. Nothing at all. "Letting it do it's thing, mostly."

"It's _thing_ involves making money for this Agency, which it... you most certainly have not done. Instead, you've cost me time and money that we can ill afford to waste on useless pursuits."

Eberts leaned forward slightly and in a low voice said, "Sir, we did send them to retrieve Doctor Keeply."

The Official slammed a hand on the desktop causing Eberts to flinch back into place. "In case all of you have forgotten you work for me. I assign the missions. You do them."

"I can't," Darien mumbled, not sure what his boss expected given he was quite literally dying.

"Well, if you can't do them I will find someone else who will."

Darien snorted. "You do realize it's the gland that's the problem. Stuffing it into someone else's head will just kill them too."

The Official chuckled darkly. "You are presuming I'd bother reusing that particular model."

Darien's blood ran ice cold at that. He knew Keepy had been working on new glands since the quake. The supposed goal to get the one in his head safely out, not to implant in some other schmuck. "Claire wouldn't-"

"Claire does not run this Agency, I do. And, now, thanks to your foolishness I've lost my top agent for an extended period of time."

"Bobby's alive?" Darien's voice so soft and full of anguished hope that he barely heard himself.

"Barely," the Official informed me, tone curt.

"Bobby's alive," Darien repeated, this time not a question, but as a statement to reassure himself. "I need to go see him."

"No. You will do you are told."

Darien tried to push to his feet, wanting to argue with his boss while standing but failed to do more than sit up straight and just barely at that.

"We've tried things 'your way' and look where it has gotten us. You damn near got your partner killed." The Official lowered his voice which made the words sound so much more harsh to Darien's ears.

"I tried to save him," Darien argued without any strength in his voice, not able to believe the words he'd spoken. "I just wanted-"

"This has never been about what _you_ wanted," The Official roared surging upwards.

That turned out to be too much for Darien in his weakened condition. It began as sparkles of light in his peripheral vision and he tried to relax and not fight what he knew to be coming, but then the pain struck, like a lightning bolt, dragging any semblance of control away from him. He could do nothing other than ride it out.

He could hear a high pitched keening and the sound of wood popping but had no way to process the incoming information. Voices assaulted him, the sound waves impacting him in a nearly physical manner. Sharp daggers and pinpricks of pain atop the strain of muscles tightening until nearly the snapping point.

The sudden release and return to reality nearly caused him to slide out of the chair. Eberts kept him from doing so, the man's grip stronger than expected preventing Darien from slipping to the floor.

"Get the Keeper in here now," The Official barked, though at whom, Darien had no clue.

"She is still at the hospital with Agent Hobbes." Eberts' head whipped about, eyes glaring angrily for an instant before that neutral mask fell back into place.

"Damn it," the Official snarled. "Well, then do something."

"What would you like me to do, sir?"

Darien chuckled darkly. "Yeah, 'Fish, what would you like him to do." The words decidedly slurred as he barely had control over his mouth and less of his tongue. "There's only one thing that'll fix this and I don't want any part of it."

The Official's eyebrows went up and a momentary confusion skittered across his face, which told Darien that the Keeper had yet to inform their boss of the conclusion she'd come to.

Keepy had been keeping secrets from more than just Darien.

Interesting.

"Go home," the Official ordered, voice gruff and unapologetic. "The Keeper will be by to check on you later."

Darien shook his head, "Hobbes, I need to see Hobbes."

Eberts answered, sympathy in his voice. "You wouldn't be allowed in. He's in far too serious condition."

Darien's shoulders sagged and he nodded slowly. "But soon?"

"Soon as it's permitted," Eberts assured him. He tucked a hand under Darien's arm and helped him to stand. "Agent Fisk will get you home."

Darien's legs shook, but he managed to remain upright all on his own. "Thanks, Ebes. Let me know if you hear anything."

"I will." Eberts walked Darien all the way to the other agent who took over the onerous duty of keeping the broken Invisible Man vertical and moving forward.

Home would do for now even if this place no longer felt like one to him.

. . .

Some food, a nap, needed given exactly how utterly exhausted he'd become body and soul and Darien slipped his babysitters with a scary ease even without the Quicksilver.

Idiots.

His first stop got him a new phone that he immediately used to text Adam and let the kid know he'd made it home fine. The syncing of his data would wait until later. He feared Adam had heard about the shooting on the news and wanted to make certain the kid didn't worry any more than necessary. Not that he wouldn't worry given he'd been the one to stage that intervention with Alex and Mike.

Hell, he was the only reason Darien had come back here to San Diego. Maybe if he hadn't Hobbes would not be in the hospital right now.

With a desperation he hadn't experienced in a long time he seriously debated the merits of running again, promises to the kid notwithstanding. If he were gone, if the gland had been taken out of the picture maybe the rest of them would have the chance to live happily ever after.

It had become blatantly obvious that he never would.

Instead, he sat in his car, engine running, fighting two conflicting impulses. Fight or flight. He wanted someone to talk to, but his options had dwindled to only a few fingers on a single hand. Bobby: out of commission for the foreseeable future. Claire: the same as she took care of Bobby. Father Tom would always err on the side of life and hope and Darien didn't exactly have a lot of either at the moment. Ivy... Holy shit. At some point he would need to talk to Ivy, _really_ talk to her. He liked her a lot. More than he'd expected, but he doubted she'd want to hang about once he revealed the truth. She'd already lost one boyfriend to this job, he would not force her to go through that again.

He'd suspected the relationship to be doomed from the start. The time had come for the death knell to be rung and part while still on good terms.

Just not this second. His current burden not something her shoulders needed bear.

He needed a neutral party. Even Mike had been biased in his own way what with his involvement with Alex and his knowledge of the project. And hadn't that been the reveal of the year. Mike had known and hadn't once mentioned it to any of them.

Who remained? Untainted by him or the Official.

Okay, maybe not untainted per se, but there remained a possibility. Yet another redhead of the many he'd collected over the years. He hadn't seen her in a while though they texted fairly regularly. Not some great love story or anything like that, but general 'hi, how ya doing?' and such. Not like either of them could say much about their jobs, which made her damn near perfect. He could buy a moment of her time, literally if necessary, and get her opinion on what to do next.

Decision made, he put the car in gear and headed for the downtown building where she worked.

Only after parking and heading to the reception desk did it dawn on him she might be in court or a meeting or a dozen other things miles more important than his useless ass. Still, he'd come this far, might as well dive in headfirst.

"Can I help you?" The twenty-something male receptionist behind the desk didn't quite sneer.

Bad enough the government building made Darien's skin crawl no matter that he played for the same team these days. Just too many bad memories of arrests and deals and trials to ever make him comfortable this near to lawyers or the law. "Uh, yeah, is Allison Jennings in?"

"Do you have an appointment?" This time the sneer came out full force making it clear that the wasting of time would not be tolerated.

With a hastily stifled sigh, Darien pulled out his badge to flash. "I just need five minutes of her time."

The millennial huffed out a breath but tapped a few keys on his keyboard. "She's got a meeting in fifteen minutes, but let me see if she's willing to squeeze you in." He picked up the handset and made a call his frown of disapproval deepening with every second that passed.

"Well, you're in luck. Head on up. You'll be met at the elevator. Twenty-sixth floor."

Darien gave him a wan smile and nod of thanks. He could only be thankful Allison had a soft spot for him as anyone else probably would have sent him packing without so much as a by your leave.

He was met by a first-year associate who actually seemed impressed that Miss Jennings had made time for him.

The girl knocked on the door and swung it open without waiting for a response. "Miss Jennings, your guest."

"Thanks," he told her, grateful she lacked the sneering tone of the one downstairs.

"Darien, what brings you to my corner of town?" Allison stood behind her desk, tablet in one hand, eyes on the computer screen sitting on her desk.

"I just..." He had no idea where to start and suddenly realized five minutes would cover only the tiniest portion of what had brought him there today. "Sorry, I shouldn't have wasted your time."

In the few seconds it took to turn around, intending to leave her in peace, she made it to his side, that tablet gone, worry in her eyes. "Hey, you came all this way, it must be important."

He shook his head. "I fucked up is all, and wanted someone to talk to." He waved at her desk. "You've got a meeting to make. I... I'll text you in a couple days."

She placed the flat of her hand against his chest, preventing him from pushing forward with that simple touch alone. "My meeting is lunch with someone I would be more than happy to blow off."

Darien still resisted, not really believing she would even consider dropping everything for him. "Allison-"

"Lunch. My treat and we'll talk. Okay?"

Those green eyes of hers bored into his and once again her earnestness and determination won him over. "Okay."

. . .

"Holy crap, Darien. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Lunch turned into hot dogs and sodas at a nearby park. Gave them the privacy he felt he needed to tell her the whole sordid tale. He had debated handing her a five to guarantee privilege, but this time trusted in her friendship to keep his secrets and she seemed to appreciate that gesture. He didn't need ADA Jennings. No, he needed his friend, Allison, and she'd been more than happy to accommodate him.

He shrugged. "Didn't want to burden anyone with my problems, I guess."

"Didn't want-" She smacked him a solidly on the arm which in his current state legitimately rocked him. "You've been dying for the better part of a year and your bimonthly texts have assured me you're 'fine' and now I learn it's all been bullshit."

Darien ducked his head guiltily. "I didn't want you to worry and it's not like you could have done anything."

Her eye roll as impressive as ever. "Darien Fawkes, you are an idiot. Yeah, I would have been concerned, but that's what friends do. You are permitted to have other friends, aren't you?"

"I have no clue," he muttered, certain the Official would rather he remained tightly leashed. Ivy had been tricky enough and if he knew Darien had stayed in communication with Allison... Well, he wouldn't have had to worry about the gland killing him first. "Wait? Are you saying you're my friend?" He did his best to fake surprise at the revelation.

Allison laughed softly. "Yes, I am. Now, you told me all this for a reason, and sadly I do have to get back to work at some point today so..."

"What do I do?" He blurted out, voice strained and uncertainty surely visible on his countenance.

She tipped her head to the side watching him with care. "Do you _want_ to die?"

He shook his head. "No. Not really. But the Madness... And I already got Bobby hurt. And-"

"Bobby was not your fault. Based on what you've said, Arnaud was the orchestrator of his injuries, no matter who actually fired the bullet that hit him, so get off the blame train for that one."

He swallowed hard, still not entirely convinced, but nodded. "I'll try."

"Good enough. Now, will you be able to catch Arnaud in your current condition?"

He wanted to nod, to shout yes, but knew it to be a huge ass lie. He was broken at best, utterly worthless from a work standpoint at worst. "Not a chance in hell."

"Then I'd say you don't have much choice." She understood vengeance. He knew that. Had helped her achieve that to some small degree, so he could see it from her perspective. You did whatever it took to achieve your goals.

And if he, Darien, died, let the gland win here and now, he never would.

She set a hand on his forearm while he thought about his choices good and ill. "And you won't be alone. I'll be there for you, even if it's just using my contacts to track the son of a bitch down. I know several extremely successful private investigators who will not only find Arnaud but wrap him up for you complete with a bow on top."

He managed a dark chuckle at that, finding perverse pleasure in the image that came to mind. "And if the Madness makes me do something I regret?"

"Then I'll prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law," she assured him in a calm voice.

"Of course you will," he muttered certain she would lead that charge complete with pitchforks and torches.

"Come on, Darien, I'm kidding. You know, a joke?"

He just stared at her blankly.

"Wow, you really have had a rough few years."

He nodded. "I think I've forgotten how to be me."

"I'll help you with that too. Okay?"

"Sure," Darien said, not quite believing her.

She stood up, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Go see Bobby. And text me with updates. My workload is pretty light right now, I want to be here for you. Got me?"

He grasped her hand tightly within his own. "Thank you, Allison."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek then left him sitting there in the early January sunshine.

. . .

Darien took twenty-four hours to put his life into some sort of order after the mess in England. His second bite of lunch had reminded him that he'd had a filling, that he had probably never actually needed, fall out along with the transmitter buried within it. So, he got an appointment with a dentist and got it dealt with.

The entire time he sat in the chair his anger grew. Claire had lied to implant the tracker, had lied as to why she had gone to England, had lied about why he had gotten sick. Hell, had probably fucked up the gland in the first place to guarantee he could never leave the Agency. And the need to do that had been growing by leaps and bounds over the last few months even those his life seemed to be going well for a change.

Then, after he'd cooled down enough to speak coherently, he did the right thing, the only thing, given the situation, he called Ivy and met her at a local cafe. They never even made it inside before he told her that he couldn't see her any longer. When she had asked he gave her a valid reason that had nothing to do with the truth. If she knew that truth she would just leave anyway, so he had chosen to be preemptive.

Once he'd made certain Bobby would live Darien's goals in life narrowed to only one.

Find Arnaud.

What would happen after that was nothing Ivy would want any part of.

So, he took a page from his old mentor's playbook and ripped the bandage off quickly.

Ivy had been no little pissed and upset but, then again, so was he. He called her an Uber, she shrugged off his assistance when it arrived and she rolled out of his life without so much as a backward glance out the rear window.

Then he went to Cabrillo. Fully intent to sit there and wait until they let him in to see Bobby.

Of course, Claire found him before he had the opportunity.

"Bloody hell, Darien."

He lifted his head up from the phone he'd been watching movies on while he waited to see Claire standing in the doorway with fisted hands on her hips. He plucked the earbuds out. "Hey, Keep."

"I've been worried sick about you. Bad enough Bobby's injured, but then you decide to up and disappear, and for all I know you've..."

He turned off the phone and tucked it away. The balled up headphones certain to be a tangled mess later when he retrieved them. "What? Keep, I'm fine. Fine as I can be anyway. Where have you been?" He knew it hadn't been Cabrillo since when he'd asked he'd been told she'd left late the day prior and hadn't been seen since.

"Looking for you, for heaven's sake." Her knuckles popped, irritation combining with worry on her face. "The Official has the entire Agency out combing the city trying to locate you."

Darien snorted. "Looking for his investment far more likely." He didn't doubt that for a second, his boss had made it quite clear over the last few years which he cared about more. "I had some things to take care. Sitting at home wasn't part of it. Besides I've been here for hours."

"You could have at least answered your phone," she argued, her voice nearing waspish in tone. Really and truly upset. "We almost lost Bobby, we couldn't..." she whispered, clearing her throat. "I can't lose you, as well."

And with those words, it became clear that she had actually had been worried about him; that she feared the worst had happened and he'd succumbed to the havoc being wreaked upon his body by the Quicksilver gland. That final meltdown that would end this experiment in a grand implosion of brain matter and Quicksilver.

"Claire..."

"You could have at least answered your damn phone," she growled, dragging the anger back to the front as a cover for the deep concern she'd revealed seconds before.

"And how would I do that, exactly?"

"Darien..." Claire threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Since it's probably in some UK landfill by now," he explained as he got to his feet and set a hand on her shoulder. He pulled out the new one to wave under her nose. "I haven't had a chance to sync the new one yet."

She raised one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Right. Still, you could have let me... or someone know where you were."

"That would kinda defeat the point of ditching my babysitters, wouldn't it?" He hoped for a smile, a soft chuckle of laughter, but got nothing. The good doctor was not a happy camper right now.

"Believe it or not, your little 'show' frightened the Official quite badly. He sent you home out of concern for your well-being."

Darien shook his head. "If there was a concern, it was for the gland and nothing else. He just wanted to punish me and I'm damn tired of being treated like a five-year old."

He expected her to lecture him with 'then stop acting like one.'

Instead, Claire frowned like a disgruntled school teacher. "The Official is only just beginning to understand how serious the situation is, Darien, and is afraid to admit his grand plan might very well fall apart before his eyes." She met Darien's gaze with a deadly serious one. "If I can't fix this, can't reverse the cure, then we might not lose only you, but the gland as well."

"And that would be such a horrible thing," Darien snarked, not wanting to get into the whole gland before the man issue now. What he wanted – needed - was to see Hobbes. To verify with his own eyes that his partner was alive. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Look, I've been here forever, half the staff has seen me and talked to me. It's not like I was hiding out. Can I see Hobbes? Please?" He didn't even bother with the whipped puppy look, knowing his current appearance would work, or not, all on its own. Death warmed over with a side of zombie, was how he felt. He could just imagine how he looked.

"You've really been here most of the day?"

I nodded, not wanting to risk my chance of seeing Bobby. "Yeah. You can ask them." He waved in the direction of the nurse's station. He'd been here for one shift change, but they'd checked in on him more than once since he'd settled in for the long haul, making it crystal clear he had no plans on going anywhere until he'd achieved his current goal.

Claire pursed her lips for a moment as if debating what to say, then nodded. "All right, but only for a couple of minutes. He's just regained consciousness and probably won't be very coherent."

Darien felt such relief sweep through him that it left him momentarily dizzy. Fearing another seizure, he took a deep, calming breath, but the disorientation passed after a few seconds, leaving him covered in a cold sweat, but still upright and visible. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Claire said gently, the anger gone completely.

Sure that security or some big, overbearing nurse would come after him before he even made it into Hobbes' room, Darien almost dashed into ICU. When he reached up to push open the door and saw that both hands were invisible, with runnels of QS dripping onto his shirt, he paused, taking a deep breath that sucked in his belly and threatened to dump his low slung pants down around his ankles. Now was not the time for hysterics in front of Hobbes. Allison had helped rekindle Darien's conviction. He would get the SOB who had done this to his partner, undergo the retrofitting of the gland and prove that he was a friend worthy of faith and trust, and live to tell the tale.

Scarborough's eerie voice kept echoing in the back of his brain, but Darien resolutely drowned him out with whatever song lyrics he could think of at any given moment. Naturally, Bad Moon Rising kept butting in to underscore his tenuous mood.

 _"Earthquakes and lightning . . ."_

He'd already survived those. As long as a hurricane didn't hit San Diego country and the rivers stayed within their banks, maybe there was hope after all.

He rapped his knuckles softly against the glass door, poking his head in a moment later. "You awake, Hobbesy?"

"Hey," Bobby slurred, obviously stoned on painkillers. There was a nasal cannula in his nose for oxygen and an IV still running fluids into his arm, but Hobbes looked so much improved since the last time Darien had laid eyes on him that his composure almost crumbled completely. It would be really unprofessional, not to mention unmanly, to start crying and beg Hobbes' forgiveness.

"Kemosabe! I was," Hobbes hitched a breath and winced, sending a corresponding sympathy pain shooting through Darien's chest, "wondering where you were."

"Hobbes." He wanted to throw his arms around his partner, feel the proof of his survival, but Bobby looked so incredibly fragile that he didn't dare. He appeared far worse than the time he'd fallen off a fire escape, once again due to Darien's own inadequacies. "Man, I'm . . .sorry. I really screwed things up here. I shoulda listened to you and Claire, and . . ."

"It's okay, Fawkesy," Hobbes rasped. "Ain't nothing to worry about." He bit down on his bottom lip, the pain written on the lines of his face shooting daggers through Darien. "You made it. You're alive."

" _You're alive,_ and that's a hell of a lot more important right now," Darien countered. "You need anything?" Hobbes smiled thinly, shaking his head as if it was almost too heavy for him to move. "Any pain meds?"

"Got one of these PCAs." Hobbes showed him a little pump attached to IV tubing that allowed him to give himself extra doses of narcotics every hour.

"Should I call Claire?" Darien asked, desperate to help and feeling completely incompetent. "She's right outside."

"Talk to me." Hobbes patted the edge of the bed, but Darien perched on the chair instead. "Tell me what you know?"

"At the airport? They were Arnaud's. I saw them just before you guys arrived, they had on turtlenecks and dark pants, all three of 'em," Darien related, the familiar routine of discussing a case with Hobbes helping to steady his nerves, bringing that burning hate bubbling back up and reminding him of where his focus needed to be right now.

"When we were all . . . talking, Arnaud ordered them to shoot," Bobby agreed.

"God, I should have been paying better attention," Darien bitched, angry he'd been so lost in his personal issues he'd hadn't paid enough attention to the bigger picture. "I just knew that rat bastard would pull something. The prediction . . ."

"Fawkes." There was a most definite whine in Hobbes' voice, but Darien didn't mention it. The guy had a reason to be whiny. "You aren't still going on about him."

"All the way down the line, Hobbes, every single time, his predictions come true," Darien explained wearily. "If I had that good a'luck, I woulda never spent any time at all in prison."

"If you had any sense at all," Hobbes said faintly.

"What happened to you- it's my fault. I was there, I saw it. Now Arnaud is on the loose again . . ."

"Get off the guilt-express, my friend," Hobbes may not have been able to move much but just shaking his finger at his partner had the desired effect. Darien sat up straighter, listening. "And get your head in the game. You're the one who's got to find Arnaud's scent again. You seem to know how he thinks."

"Hobbes!" That didn't exactly sound like a compliment.

"You are not the one who caused some wise-ass, over-zealous TSA guard, " Bobby ran out of steam and lay panting, his face pale and dripping with sweat, "to pull the trigger. Just find Arnaud, cause we need that bastard's help..."

"To figure out the gland," Darien finished, resting his hand on Hobbes' cheek when his friend fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. "I promise, Bobby, I promise not to let you down. I'll never bail on you again."

A tiny nurse who could have fit under Darien's chin, even if she were wearing spike heels and not sensible running shoes, trundled into the room towing a tray on wheels containing lots of bandaging supplies and other medical instruments that Darien had far too intimate a knowledge of. "Oh, I am so sorry, sir, I didn't realize you were still here," she squeaked in an accent that perfectly complemented with her straight, jet black hair and almond shaped eyes. She had a badge, decorated with rose stickers, hanging from a hospital lanyard which identified her as Oudomphone Saephan. Darien didn't dare attempt to pronounce that. "You must give Mr. Hobbes his rest now. I am going to be changing bandages and administering his medications," she informed him.

"Can you tell him that I'll come back later?" Darien rose, looking down at his partner with concern. Hobbes looked so small and defenseless there in the hospital bed, the few tufts of hair on his balding pate only adding to his vulnerability.

"I heard ya," Hobbes mumbled sleepily, grumbling when the tiny nurse wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the arm that didn't have an IV. "You take care of yourself, Jackson. Call Ivy, let her know you're back."

"I could say the same right back at you," Darien said lightly to cover the fact that he'd already done that deed. This felt so normal, except he was just playing a part. Selling the con. Down deep, he didn't truly yet believe that he could ever be normal again; if he ever had been. "Does Terry know?"

"Crap," Hobbes hissed when the nurse pressed her stethoscope into his chest. "She probably saw it on the news by now. You gotta call her, Fawkes."

"Mr. Hobbes, I cannot hear your heart rate if you continue to talk," Oudomphone admonished. She laid a small hand on his shoulder, moving the bell of her stethoscope around to listen to his breathing. Hobbes never opened his eyes.

"Shut your piehole, Hobbes." Darien turned to leave so that he wouldn't have to be pushed out the door by a four foot ten medical professional. Instead, he nearly ran into a five foot eight medical doctor, five ten in heels, which she wasn't wearing either.

Blinded earlier by his concern for Hobbes, Darien hadn't really registered his doctor's appearance. Claire looked almost as banged up as Hobbes did. Her hair was piled messily into a bun with two pencils pinning it in place. She no longer had on the clothing she'd worn on the plane, a green sweater that had been saturated in Bobby's blood. At some point, she'd changed into a blue scrub top and aqua pants stamped with Property of Cabrillo Hospital, which looked like she'd slept in them. From what she'd told him about running around looking for him, she probably hadn't had any sleep at all.

"Darien," Claire cried, holding up both hands to prevent being bowled into. "You've seen Hobbes. Now it's your turn. I need to get you into the lab to run tests so that we can make an informed decision on your future. This is imperative."

"Claire, I know, I know." Darien took another look at Hobbes and firmed his resolve. This was no longer just about him- maybe it never had been, but he viewed the situation from a different perspective now. "Can't this wait a day? Until Hobbes is at least out of the ICU? He… he's hurting, and I gotta call Terry for him."

Claire regarded him with a combination of compassion and irritation, an expression she'd perfected in the years that he'd known her. "You may not have that much time."

"What? I'm not going anywhere, Claire, I swear. No more running." At least not right now. No way he could go after Arnaud in his current condition. So, better to permit Keepy her fun and be on the road to recovery than possibly dying in the grand mal of all Quicksilver seizures.

Claire took his arm, leading him down the corridor. "Every time you have another seizure, it weakens you, Darien. I've counted at least four- each time could be damaging the gland, your amygdala, thalamus, pineal gland. I don't know what we're facing here unless I have more data to interpret. Without Arnaud..."

"Didn't he give you anything?" Darien snarled. "You were on the plane with him for hours, you couldn't-"

"Not the time or the place," Claire said tightly, glancing around at the nurses and doctors at the main desk. "The plane was not a place to discuss classified information and neither is the hall of a hospital. I expect to see you in the Keep Lab ASAP. I know you're concerned about Bobby, Darien. I'm concerned about _both_ of you." She checked her watch with a little click of her tongue. "I have to check over Bobby and then get back to the Agency, most of my research is there."

Darien saw Claire's professional demeanor slip just once before she marched into her patient's room. This was killing her. The last thing he should do was add to her worries. He wasn't about to tell her about the three- no make that five -seizures that she wasn't aware of. Every time he lost total function of his body, it scared the crap out of him, too. The problem was, the Quicksilver Madness was just as bad because when he was QMS, he was like a visitor in someone else's body. He had no control, but he knew it and could do absolutely nothing to stop his murderous id. What was worse? Dying from a failing gland that was relentless seizing or agonizing headaches and a rampant insanity?

He shivered, tremors running the length of both legs, and it was a long time before he had the strength to find a quiet corner to make that call to Hobbes' lady friend.

. . . . .

Darien changed into the hospital scrubs as requested. He'd utterly refused to get into a tacky butt-baring johnny for the thirty minute trip into the MRI. He understood the need but hated the whole vulnerable and alone feeling that had crept up on him since the moment he'd arrived. Claire had introduced him to the tech who would be handling the actual scans and he'd been jumpy and uneasy ever since. And for no good reason he could explain.

Least not to Alex.

She looked good. Amazing. The Bahamian sun and Mike had clearly done the job as advertised. Leaving her calm and relaxed in a manner Darien had never quite seen before.

"Thanks for being here, Alex," he told her sincerely. Even if it had been on orders from the Official, he'd still rather have someone he currently trusted watching his back and given Hobbes had been placed on the injured reserve list that left one Alex Monroe.

"Fawkes, did you really think I wouldn't stand by you now?"

He shrugged. "I can only hope given everything we've been through."

"Which means you still have hope. I was beginning to wonder." She cocked a single perfect brow at him, waiting for the challenge she certainly thought would come. "Heard you agreed to this all on your own. Officialed?"

He shook his head. "Means to an end."

She gave him a quick nod and a tight smile. "Now, that makes more sense." She set a hand on his shoulder. "Not the wisest reason, but I'll back your play when it comes to Arnaud."

He hadn't expected that, not really, but he'd take it and her resources should it become necessary. He opened his mouth to thank her and maybe even begin plotting his revenge when a familiar voice bellowed down the hallway.

"Where's the waiting room?"

Alex took a few steps and poked her head around the corner. "Hobbes, what the hell are you doing here."

"Same thing as you, Monroe. Being there for my partner, what else."

Once stable and out of the ICU at Cabrillo Hobbes had been transferred to Leavitt per protocol. The Official even had Eberts make everyone who had been within a hundred feet of Hobbes sign the government version of a NDC threatening all of them should they talk about anything Hobbes might have mumbled in his drug induced ramblings.

Moments later he rolled around the corner, an orderly pushing the wheelchair with a put-upon expression on his face. He had clearly found dealing with a cranky Hobbes as exciting as Darien did. "Hobbesy, shouldn't you be in bed or something?" Hobbes still had a plastic nasal cannula in his nose attached to a portable oxygen tank hanging over the handlebars of the chair, but otherwise looked remarkably good for a man who'd been shot in the back just over a week prior.

"Yes, he should," the orderly rumbled, "but he's stubborn and insisted on being here."

Hobbes twisted about, wincing slightly at the movement. "And you agreed to leave me when we got here."

"I lied." The man frowned and made it clear he intended to stay.

Hobbes huffed out a breath, while Darien tried not to laugh.

"How about waiting at the check-in desk just down the hall," Alex suggested. "He won't move from the chair and if there's the slightest indication something is wrong I'll come get you personally." She turned on the charm, almost but not quite flirting with him.

He blinked twice then nodded. "He won't be alone?"

"Not for a second," Alex assured him radiating an honesty and confidence that almost had Darien believing her.

Another sigh from the man and he turned and left them alone.

"So this foray isn't authorized by actual doctors, I take it?" Darien leaned against the doorway in a casual pose that was marred by the tenseness of his muscles.

"You don't need to know, Fawkesy." Hobbes shook a finger at him. "So, c'mon, give me all the details here. I've been out of the loop way too long."

"Nothing to tell really." Darien hadn't been told all that much himself and as Alex had just returned she probably knew even less. "Claire's done some blood draws, run some other tests-"

Hobbes waved his hands to cut off rest of the sentence. "Where are we on finding Arnaud?"

Darien frowned. "Nowhere," he told his partner... partners. "I'm on desk duty until the gland situation has been resolved. As far as I know, no one is _officially_ looking for him." Not entirely true. Darien had put out some feelers, but they hadn't turned up much so far. Even with the video from the airport and CCTV from the surrounding area the trail had gone cold quickly. If Arnaud had a place in the area, which he most certainly did, Darien had been unable to find it.

"Oh. That's not good."

"No shit," Alex agreed. "I'll do some digging on my own."

"Even if the Official doesn't want you to?" Hobbes questioned.

"Last I checked Arnaud was wanted by multiple agencies up to and including Interpol. His current trail begins here. Besides, it's not like the Official signs my paychecks."

Darien snorted. "He doesn't have the budget for it."

Hobbes' head began to swivel about. "When's this gonna go down?"

"Right now." Claire came in with her hands on her hips. "Bobby, what are you doing up?"

"Supporting my friend," he said in a don't-argue-with-me-voice, jutting out his chin in challenge.

Claire's pretty face softened, and for a moment, Darien thought the doctor was going to cry, but she straightened and got her I mean business face firmly back into place. "All right then, it's time. MRI is all warmed up and ready to go.

"Yay," Darien stated cheerlessly, waving his hands with a much sarcasm as he could muster. ' _Means to an end_ ,' he reminded himself silently.

. . .

Darien sat on the MRI table and tried not to shiver. Everything in the room had been done in white on white, and the AC had been set to frostbite. Typical for a hospital he supposed. He sat there on the curved MRI bed waiting on those he could see through the glass. Claire and that tech he'd been introduced to earlier. They appeared to be arguing, but the smile plastered on her face seemed to indicate it to be of the friendly sort. Still, the hairs on the back of Darien's neck stood up warning him of a danger he couldn't actually see.

He hated that it had come to this. That he'd become so weak that he had been forced to do the one thing he had sworn he would never suffer through again: the Madness. It didn't matter if he never actually went red-eye, the fact that it _might_ happen more than enough to make his adrenaline surge and the first chill prickles of Quicksilver down his spine.

His Keeper appeared with what looked like a complete IV set up in her hand. Darien felt his eyebrows go up with confusion. "What's that for?" he asked, forcing his teeth not to chatter.

"Contrast."

At that non-answer, he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "Gonna need more than one-word answers, Keep."

She sighed softly. "It's a radio-opaque dye that is visible in the MRI pictures. To make the pictures clearer. I need to make certain nothing has... changed since your last exam," she explained.

"Ah, that makes sense, I s'pose." He broke out in goosebumps. "Any chance I can get a blanket? It's freezing in here." He shivered dramatically so that Claire would notice.

"Yes. I'll even tuck you in all nice and comfy. You're going to be in there for a while, I'm afraid." Claire put the IV bag and tubing on a mayo stand to one side of the MRI. "Lie down now, Darien," she urged.

The tech appeared as if by magic with dark blue blankets labeled 'Property of Leavitt Hospital' stamped in crappy black ink.

Claire tucked the blankets snugly about Darien so that he was covered from armpits to toes. While not warm precisely, he was more comfortable. Darien sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The frost that had settled on his heart had little to do with the temperature of the room and more to do with his current doomsday view of reality.

Claire swabbed the back of his hand with rubbing alcohol, the sharp bite of the scent oddly comforting to him. Medical procedures had become a strangely normal part of his weird ass life. With swift precision, Claire inserted the IV needle into a vein, taping it in place. From somewhere behind her, she produced a plastic frame to keep Darien's head still for the duration.

"I need to immobilize your head..." she began.

Darien waved his hand. "I know what it's for, Keep," he grumbled, not thrilled at the prospect of being strapped down and restrained, even if he did know why it had to be done. "Been here before, remember?" He forced a false state of calm, to avoid stressing himself into another seizure.

He didn't know why, but his spidey-sense tingled like mad, which it shouldn't. This was just another ordinary procedure, one he'd been through before without a problem.

Plus, both Alex and Bobby were nearby. What could possibly go wrong? Except he couldn't shake the anxiety. His heart doing a slow pound against his rib cage, almost hard enough to trigger the gland. But there was no one but Claire and the MRI tech nearby, and nothing suspicious going on that he could see.

Maybe Hobbes' paranoia really was contagious?

Then again, maybe he just wanted someone he trusted to hold his hand, to assure him everything would be all right. Even if it was a lie.

But his entire reality as of late had been nothing but lies. Even if only of omission. And there have been a lot of omission over the last few months.

She must have seen something in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

He forced a grin but suspected that it fell far short of the mark. "Just peachy."

He could tell she didn't believe him, but it was also clear she was unsure what to say to ease his concern. She handed him the noise canceling headphones designed to function inside the machine. "I've your Spotify list all cued up and ready to go. I'll also be able to communicate with you."

"I know the routine, Keep. Done this before in case you've forgotten since I reminded you thirty seconds ago."

She sighed and looked, of all things, nervous. "Right. Put those on if you would."

He did and the world about him went silent for several seconds before music kicked in. He could see Claire's lips moving but heard not a single word. The cage she held up designed to prevent him from moving his head about. He didn't like it but permitted it since it meant he would be out of the machine that much sooner.

He gave her a thumbs up when she patted him on the shoulder and mouthed what looked like, "Good?"

She stepped back slightly, the table sliding into the tube. He watched her and much to his surprise she picked up a syringe, pulled off the cap and injected the contents into the valve rigged into the line of the IV. He tried to struggle, but a deep lethargy quickly spread from his arm outward, causing him to do little more than mumble his protest incoherently at her.

She patted him on the leg once she'd set the now empty syringe aside.

She had lied to him yet again.

He fought the building buzz in his brain for as long as he could, but by the time the machine started, not so much heard as felt within his muscles and bones, his eyelids had slipped downward and awareness drifted away.

Still, he didn't sleep so much as dozed, an odd awareness about him. The lyrics of the music there in his mind grounding him to the here and now. He fought the pull of the drugs, that blessed unconsciousness he had so often longed for as of late. Now he wanted nothing more than to wake, to be assured the world still turned on its axis as it should.

His eyes fluttered open, permitting him to peer out the tiny semi-circle of the room visible beyond his feet. The angle horrible, but he could see Claire and the MRI tech again arguing in the observation room, Claire's fisted hands showed her agitation while the man wore a smug smile.

Something about the smile triggered a visceral surge of anger, an anger that he had experienced any number of times over the last few years. The familiarity made him realize precisely what he saw before him: Arnaud. The mannerisms combined with that unmistakable smirk... Darien would know it anywhere. He willed his body to move and managed a bare flex of his legs. Whatever Claire had put in that IV, it pinned him to the machine as effectively as a fly to a pithing board.

The surge of anger had done little against the sedative he'd been given, nothing substantial, in fact all he could do was watch mutely as a stranger with Arnaud's smile took Claire by one arm and shoved her hard into the chair in front of the monitors. Once in place the smarmy smile turned to gaze out the window as if aware Darien watched him and he leaned forward slightly to speak over the intercom, the slick oily voice oozing its way into his ears.

"Fawkes, Fawkes, Fawkes, you really do make things too easy, you realize?"

. . . . .

He drifted back into awareness staring at a drop ceiling with old yellowed water stains on the tiles. The bone-numbing cold of the MRI room gone, but it had settled deep into his heart. He had this feeling of dread in his gut. He could remember not going under as thoroughly as his Keeper had clearly wanted. He had seen... had seen... "Fucking Arnaud."

"Fawkes?"

He twitched, not expecting anyone to be there other than maybe a nurse. He rolled onto his side to find Alex seated in a cheap plastic chair, six-month-old magazine in her hand. Bobby sat next to her, still in his chair, her iPhone in his hands, thumbs flying over the keyboard. "Terry?"

Hobbes lifted his head. "Yeah. She's worried, but can't visit because of the security concerns. Thanks for keeping her in the loop."

Darien slowly sat up, the world dipping and shifting about him, he wrapped his arms around his legs, going over the admittedly fuzzy memory. "The tech running the machine, did you see him after?"

Alex and Bobby glanced at each other. "No, why?" Alex asked.

"I'm pretty sure he was Arnaud in disguise." He quickly and concisely told them what he remembered from inside the machine as well as the disagreements he had witnessed.

"Fawkes, you were doped up to the nines, are you sure?" Alex didn't seem to doubt his words only wanting to be certain he was certain.

"I'm sure. How long have I been out?"

"Thirty minutes give or take. Didn't think the Keep planned on knocking you out for this," Hobbes' voice had gone soft and Darien could see the cogs and gears whirring behind his eyes.

"She hadn't," Alex confirmed.

"He'll be long gone by now then. What did he want?" He ran his hands through his hair only to encounter a bandage at the base of his skull. "For fuck's sake," he complained bitterly. "How long have I been here, in recovery?"

"Claire let us in ten minutes ago, why?" Alex's tone now verged on suspicious as well.

Darien twisted and showed them the white gauze taped to the back of his neck.

Alex got to her feet and with gentle fingers peeled up the tape. "Small puncture with slight bruising." She replaced the tape, then leaned about to look Darien in the eye. "Biopsy?"

"That'd be my guess."

"Shit," Hobbes muttered.

"Bobby?" Alex queried, not leaving Darien's side almost as if she knew it wouldn't take much to take him over the edge. No matter how strong his anger, little chance he'd last more than a couple hours before either collapsing in exhaustion or another seizure. She kept a hand on his shoulder, which for the moment kept him in place. The room still being a bit blurry about the edges might have had something to do with it as well.

"She told me she was lyin' to 'im."

"What are you talking about, Hobbes?" Alex asked cautiously.

"Back in England, Claire said she'd cut a deal with Arnaud to get the data she needed from him, but that she had no plans to honor it," Hobbes explained, a pained expression on his face.

"What kind of deal?" Darien choked out, the words strangled from the fury that closed his throat.

Hobbes slowly sat up straighter, his face twisting in what had to pain, but the look in his eyes made it plain he wasn't about to let a little discomfort stop him. "Gland samples, files and such for showing Claire... something to do with that cure of his. She said she wasn't gonna honor her end." Bobby defended his fair maiden, even when she plainly didn't deserve it.

Alex turned to Darien. "So it's possible she didn't know De Fehrn would be here."

"It's also possible she's been working with him all along," Darien growled, part of him regretting the words the moment they left his mouth.

Alex tensed but didn't disagree with him. The whole damn setup looked beyond suspicious at this point.

"Fawkes, she wouldn't do that to you," Hobbes stated, a conviction in his voice that Darien should have expected.

"Not even if it were the only way to save him?" Alex asked astutely. It seemed obvious that while she had been otherwise occupied during that whole immunity to the Counteragent time period, she'd read all the reports and heard her share of first-hand accounts. She knew what a hell it had been for everyone.

Hobbes started to shake his head but stopped, with a look of contemplation. . "Maybe," he finally admitted. "She's gone against direct orders to protect him before."

"The Official's orders, maybe. Don't mean she ain't been working for dear old Arnie this entire time," Darien argued, just barely keeping his anger in check.

"Fawkes..."

"Stop," Alex barked, and both men looked away not able to meet her eyes or each others. "Darien, I understand why you're so suspicious, and don't really disagree with you, but I'm not going to presume guilt here." She pointed at Bobby. "And I'm not going to proclaim her innocence either." She slipped off the bed and began to pace the floor. "Something hinky is going on here, and I'm going to try and find out what."

"Alex-"

"I'm not going to Claire... yet," Alex interrupted Darien's rant before it could gather strength. "But I will check the security logs. If I find anything, I'll let you know. Until then..." She poked her head out the door for a long moment. "We need to get you back to your room," she told Bobby. Then to Darien, "And you need your clothes."

Darien huffed out a breath. "Yes, mom. And thanks."

"For what?" she asked.

"For believing me."

. . .

" _Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change."_

Well no shit.

.

Darien rolled Hobbes along the sidewalk to the park, using that term exceedingly loosely, Leavitt had for patients deemed healthy enough to be outside. He wore his own clothes much to his relief, though not his preferred casual suits, just sweats and tee, plus a sweatshirt in consideration of the winter air temperatures and the nurse's insistence. An orderly trailed behind them, but had agreed to stay out of earshot once they'd joined Alex. Darien turned down the tree and bush lined lane heading for the gazebo.

"Looks like we've got unexpected company," Hobbes muttered and Darien raised his head to see not only Alex but Claire and Mike waiting for them and not a single smile to be found anywhere. Not even a forced one.

"Oh, this can't be good," Darien groused under his breath but still loud enough for Hobbes to hear and making the man snort in reaction.

"Ow. Don't make me laugh, it hurts and I want out of here sooner rather than later, capiche?"

Darien grunted in agreement, wanting his partner out of Leavitt and back by his side as well. The docs were thinking another few days at most. They'd already gotten him off the IV, though he still took oral meds for the pain, they wanted him to be able to walk without his breath hitching in his chest after only a dozen steps. His PT doc still not thrilled with his range of motion, but that would come in time. Given Hobbes' age, his recovery time would be longer than anticipated no matter how fit he had been when shot.

Hobbesy had begun pushing himself the last couple of days which had left him sore and grumpy at his lack of progress.

"Capiche," Darien agreed. He suspected laughs would be few and far between at this little tete a tete they were about to join.

He rolled Hobbes up the ramp and locked the wheels. He immediately got to his slipper covered feet and shuffled over to the nearest upright post to lean against. A cough from the orderly earned a glance from Darien but earned nothing but being ignored by Hobbes.

"How are you feeling, Bobby?" Claire asked cautiously. She appeared to want to go to his side, but a warning glare from Alex held her in place.

"Not bad, actually. Docs say a couple days and I'll be out of here."

She nodded, probably fully aware of any plans concerning Hobbes and his potential release to her care.

Darien focused on Alex who had that pinched _I'm angry as fuck but trying to hide it_ look on her face which boded ill for what she had come here to talk about. "Alex, what's up?"

Alex glanced over at Claire whose eyes had been cast downward, hands twisting together before her.

"I've been able to confirm the tech you saw during the MRI was Arnaud," Alex told him.

"Fuck," Darien groused. "And now he has everything he needs to recreate the gland without the flaws his had." He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. the bruise at the base of his skull giving a twinge as he rediscovered it and refreshing his memory of the betrayal yet again. He scowled at Claire no longer certain he could trust her to complete the task necessary for him to find and get his vengeance on dear old Arnie. "Why?"

"Why did I cut the deal?" Claire asked in an almost hesitant voice.

He nodded.

"To keep my promise to you, of course. I don't want you to suffer from the Madness any longer than absolutely necessary. And... and once returned to its original form I might be able to more easily find a removal technique that won't kill you."

All good reasons, but not enough. Not by a long shot. Even he knew she should be able to repair the cure, all on her own. The need for Arnaud only to expedite the fix, not necessary to it. "You should've just shot him."

Claire gasped while Mike's lips twitched upwards at the corners. He seemed to think that plan the better one.

"I can't predict how long it will take-"

He cut her excuses off at the knees. "I. Don't. Care. _You_ are the one I trusted to do this. Not Arnaud." He caught Alex frowning at him, but soldiered on. "And now I don't."

"Darien?"

"Don't worry, Keeper, you'll still be able to do your job. I'll have the gland reset, might even let you give me the cure when the time comes, but for now, that's gonna be it." He never raised his voice, not one single decibel, but he could see the tears welling in his Keeper's eyes and didn't give a great god damn. He'd believed in her, trusted her with his sanity and his life and she had screwed him over time and time again even if that had never been her actual intent. He turned away, not about to be sucked back in by her crocodile tears. "Any word on Arnaud?"

Alex's frown deepened for an instant, but she made no comment on his harsh treatment of his Keeper. "No, which is odd in and of itself. I expected him to make a run for it once he had the samples he needed."

"All his local places have been compromised. The only one still up and running is the casino and that is more for generating money than anything," Hobbes reminded, not entirely needlessly. "I doubt he'd run there with us after him."

"He didn't," Mike commented, making it clear he or Alex had already looked into it.

"So what do we know?" Darien asked since he'd been out of the loop, for the most part, the last several days. Dealing with getting his house in order, hanging with Bobby in between incessant blood draws and generally trying to not have another seizure. He'd also been doing his own digging into Arnaud. He might have been tech challenged once upon a time, but he'd learned, especially when he could put apps on his phone that would crack electronic locks easier than doing it himself. Getting back to his roots might just be what he needed to get what he ultimately wanted: Arnaud's head on a pike.

Literal or figurative.

"So he's still around," Hobbes observed.

Alex nodded in agreement. "That is the conclusion we've come to, however, finding him is going to be challenging."

Darien huffed out a breath in irritation. "How hard can it be?"

Alex shot him a look he could not easily interpret. "Facial rec is useless when he can be anyone he wants," she reminded, snark oozing back into her tone, clearly not happy with Darien's attitude at the moment.

"So? His goons were waiting for him at the airport, that means he's got contacts here. And I doubt he traveled with a set of masks on him." He nodded at Hobbes at Claire who had escorted Arnaud to that abortive meeting at the airport. "That means a lab, lab equipment, and all the other bells and whistles to clone the gland. Track his goons. Look for equipment purchases. Tracking Arnie ain't the only way to find him."

Alex and Mike exchanged a glance before he answered, "We did. The goons anyway and all of them turned up quite dead. But the rest. I'll admit to not thinking to track the equipment. I'll need a list of what he may have purchased."

"I can get you that, though I suppose there's a chance he simply moved equipment from another location." Claire didn't look overly pleased that she'd come to that conclusion so quickly. "But it's a place to start."

"I'll get on it as soon as I'm home," Alex told them.

"Why not at the office?" Hobbes questioned, eyes narrowing as he watched her.

"Because the Official doesn't want us officially looking for Arnie, as usual," Darien sneered. "Does he know the Douche has gland samples?"

Claire froze, a classic deer in the headlights pose, hands stilling their ceaseless wringing for the moment. "Not that I am aware of," she finally answered.

"I'm not certain even that would motivate him," Mike commented and Darien could only wonder what the man knew that he didn't.

A lot, of course, but specifics in this case.

"Great. What if Arnie undercuts the 'Fish and sells to both sides?"

"Well shit, Fawkes, that would make you-"

"Useless and utterly expendable," Darien griped, knowing if he became redundant, one of many invisible men within the alphabet agencies of the government, the Agency would shut down. Create a new persona and Arnie could take the gland to anyone and make Darien obsolete in an instant. And once that happened his life would be over. No budget meant no money, meant no Counteragent, no cure and nothing to look forward to but death in the not too distant future.

"I will apprise the Official of the situation before the end of the day," Alex assured him.

"It won't make no difference," Hobbes grouched. "If he wants De Fehrn running around the douche will be."

"That doesn't make any sense," Claire argued. "If he loses his monopoly on the Quicksilver..."

Darien shrugged. "No shit. Well, since I have no interest in being a footnote in the history of the Agency, what say we find him ourselves and discourage him from making any more glands... with prejudice."

"I'm in," Hobbes piped up instantly. "Soon as the docs turn me loose that is."

Mike nodded. "I'll help any way I can. However, Alex could be sent out on an op at any time."

Darien nodded. "And he'll do it if he catches wind of us going behind his back. So, that means I need to be back in shape sooner rather than later." He turned to Claire. "When can we do this?"

"I... I do have a few more tests I need to run. I need to create the reversal, arrange for a place to perform the procedure..."

"Do that at Perseus," Hobbes suggested though it sounded more like an order to Darien's ears.

"The lab isn't close to ready yet," she told him. "We could do it here."

"No," Darien stated. "Perseus. Anywhere else is too risky. Arnaud could show up and we'd never even know it." His hard gaze didn't waver from Claire, who lifted her chin in an attempt to be defiant and reassert her authority over him. "How much of the complex do you actually need functional?"

She huffed out a breath. "One of the labs and the operating theater would be more than enough, but-"

"And how long would it take to get them cleaned up an ready to go?" Alex questioned, not about to permit the Keeper wiggle out of it.

"A week, maybe?" she responded with a frown. "But I doubt the Official will authorize the crew."

Darien waved his hand to dismiss her concerns. "We'll have it ready. It's not like I'm going to be sent on a mission and you can run your tests at the same time."

"Plus you can keep an eye on me," the Keeper groused.

"Yeah, that too." Darien didn't bother beating around the bush or hiding his utter contempt and distrust of her.

"I wanna be there," Hobbes informed them.

"You will be, Bobby," Alex agreed with a nod.

"Bobby," Claire all but whined. "you-"

"I will be there, Keep," Hobbes reiterated. His tone causing her mouth to snap shut in surprise.

She nodded mutely.

Darien clapped his hands together. "Good. Now that that's decided, what say we work up a viable method to find Arnie."

. . . . .

They'd made amazing strides in just a few days. The entrance cleared of debris, alarm system up and running, Lab A and the surgical suite damn close to completion. The Keeper still hunted for some pieces of equipment that she didn't need so much as want just in case, but the basics would be finished well within the time frame she'd promised.

Not that Darien had believed a word from her, but the Official apparently wanted his seventeen million dollar weapon functional soonest since the only able-bodied agent with any viable skills was currently Alex. Oh, the other agents worked cases, but rarely handled the ones that brought in the real money or the necessary attention of those back in D.C. Knowing the 'Fish he'd be whoring Alex out to the highest bidder just to make certain we'd have cash to pay next month's electric bill we worked as quick as possible.

On the flip side, the same overbearing bastard had no intention of finding Arnaud in a hurry, more than content to have it take years before the Keeper fixed the cure and administered it.

Darien's leash back and tighter than ever.

He didn't want it. Hated even the mere thought of it.

But without it, without taking the cure he would never have the chance to avenge Kevin. Avenge all those poor schmucks who'd gotten killed at Perseus. And, more, avenge Bobby.

Bobby had become more Darien's brother than Kevin had ever even tried to be. Little wonder he wanted Arnaud buried six feet deep and then to dance on his grave for hours afterward.

"You sure I can't help with nothing?"

Darien looked over at Bobby with his left arm strapped across his chest to prevent him from moving it too much yet. He hadn't yet begun physical therapy, but his doc figured it would be a few months at the least.

"What? Redesigning the security ain't enough for you?" The original system had still been in place, just turned off like everything else at the lab. It had been in serious need of updating, so with a few calls made by Alex and some upgraded computers, they had one that might actually prevent unwanted people from getting in. Hobbes had been put in charge of it and Darien had been trying to defeat it, using his less than legal skills to tweak it until even he would have difficulty breaking in and that's with knowing how it worked.

"It ain't my job," Hobbes groused. "My job is catching the bad guys. Hunting down Chrysalis. Arnaud. And speaking of the douche in question?"

"In the wind still. Got some leads on the equipment but nothing definite yet." Darien didn't like the answer but it was the one they'd been stuck with. Didn't help that they had to do the investigating on our own time. The Official pitching a fit every time he caught us using Agency computers to handle the heavy lifting. So they all trolled the internet and each used their various contacts to track down every tidbit we could get our desperate fingers on. "If you'd reach out to your Hobbes-net that'd be another trail to follow."

Hobbes nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can do that. But-"

"But nothing, Hobbes. Not like I'm going to be heading out on any ops soon. Even after I do the deed the Keeper is gonna want to run tests to make certain everything is copacetic with me and the Q-gland. The 'Fish is already bitching about it."

Hobbes frowned. "So I've heard. He is not thrilled with what I've cost his precious Agency the last few weeks. Cheap bastard."

Bobby sounded as thrilled as Darien did with the current status quo. "Let him bitch. If he'd let us hunt down Arnie anytime in the last few years this might not have ever happened." Darien had been looking into that particular angle on his own and hadn't liked what he'd been finding. "We need to look into projects he might be interested in. He could be using someone else's lab to do his personal work under a false identity like he did in Oxford."

"I've already spoken to Eberts about doing that very thing," Claire announced as she bustled into the room, tablet in hand. "Bobby, you are looking quite well today."

"Thanks, Keepy. Can we trust Eberts to actually do the work?"

"His assistance is what permitted me to locate Arnaud in the UK, I don't imagine he would stop now. Not when we're so close."

"Well, you sure drank the kool-aid," Darien snarked.

"Fawkes, Keep's trying to fix you, remember," Hobbes snapped, which he quickly regretted as the micro-rant forced him to suck in a breath causing a hitch and him to wince at the pain through his chest and back. "Fuck."

She rushed to his side, hand on his unrestrained arm. "Bobby, you are still recovering, you need to take it easy until you're back up to full strength."

She attempted to encourage him over to a seat, but he dug in his heels and refused to move. "I'm fine. We on schedule to fix him?" He waved in Darien's general direction.

"If this last round of tests comes back as I hope, yes."

"Tests? Which tests?" Hobbes asked, saving me from having to do so and speaking to her.

"On the reversal. Darien's condition is stable for the time being, I just want to make certain there will be no complications," she explained hurriedly. Not quite able to meet Darien's eyes.

"Okay, Keep. Makes sense. I'm gonna be here for that." Hobbes didn't ask, not this time. He had no intention of letting his partner go through that alone.

"Yes, of course. I suspect Alex will want to be here as well. Seems no one trusts me to actually do my job any longer," she groused, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Well, there's a reason for that, Claire," Hobbes informed her tartly. "You fucked up."

She shot him a glare. "I did what I needed to do to save Darien."

"You manipulated me," Darien argued, "just like the 'Fish."

She desperately tried to argue, "That's not-"

"Don't bother, Keeper," Darien interrupted, not about to listen to her prevarication and justifications for what she'd done yet again. The recording had gotten quite worn at this point. "I get it, you were just doing your job to make certain the gland remains functional. How about you give me a date for us to continue that."

She gave him that watery-eyed gaze as if she might actually cry, but he didn't buy it for a hot second. No, he had reached the point where he no longer trusted anything about her and would not be manipulated, even emotionally. "I need three days."

Hobbes' head swiveled from one to the other. "Excellent, Keepy, I'll have the security upgrades done by then. Anything you need from us?"

She shook her head. "Just your presence. I'll text you the details tomorrow. I need to finish up here then report to the Official."

Darien grunted in acknowledgment then turned away, returning to ignoring her. They'd been through this before, him not trusting her beyond necessity. Sadly, with what needed to be done he'd be forced to deal with her on a fairly regular basis and all he knew he could count on her to protect the gland at all costs, the man not so much.

"All right, Hobbes, where do you want me to break in today?"

Hobbes snorted, his eyes following the Keeper as she turned away and left them alone.

"This how it's gonna be from now on?"

"Looks that way," Darien confirmed. "You gonna try to tell me different?"

He shook his head. "Not this time. Not yet anyway. Do you even trust her enough to do the... the thing?"

"The reset? I don't exactly have much choice. There is no one else." Honestly, he wanted the Keeper nowhere near him or the gland, but without the reset, he would die in the grand mal seizure of all Quicksilver meltdowns.

"Well, I mean, technically Arnie could do it."

Darien shot him a glare. "You so did not just go there."

Hobbes snickered. "A'course I did. Just try to remember the Keep is on our side. I'm not big on trusting her either right now, but..."

Yeah, that but. So I changed the subject. "You meet up with Terry yet?"

"Tonight. Date at a cafe that's dog friendly."

"Nice. Say 'hi' from me."

"You could double with us, bring Ivy," Hobbes suggested.

Darien realized that he'd never told his partner that he and Ivy had gone their separate ways. "Uh, I ended it. Didn't want her to have to deal with all this mess." When Hobbes' eyes went wide he added, "She already lost someone to the job, I couldn't risk hurting her again that way."

Faster's better, after all.

"Sorry to hear that, partner, she seemed to make you happy."

Darien shrugged. "She did, but I couldn't... what if this kills me? I won't do that to her."

"You'll find the right girl someday," Hobbes assured me.

"Maybe. Not sure I want to so long as the gland's still in residence." Too damn risky especially with the soon to be returning Madness. He no longer wanted to be mixed up in this government mess, no chance he would drag someone he loved into it as well. No. Single and celibate would have to do for the time being. "Now, what is on today's agenda?"

This time Hobbes permitted the change in subject and woke up the computer, the Agency logo rotating on the monitor. "The barracks if I recall correctly. Need to get them wired up and active."

"The equipment here?" It was, Darien had brought the crates in himself.

Hobbes nodded. "Yep, just need to verify the old lines are working and hook up the new sensors."

"Perfect. Where do we start."

. . . . .

I hated how used to this I had become.

A large bore needle shoved up into my skull, the pain not enough to even make me flinch any longer. The last one I could recall hurting, really hurting, was the damn milking the Chinese had done, but, then again, they'd drilled in through the bone to get to the gland, not gone up through the gap in the base of my skull.

I kinda preferred the latter. Definitely less pain, but left me extremely vulnerable since I had to be face down in a mutant version of a massage table. The Keeper had lightly strapped me in place, with my permission, just as a precaution. If I flinched at the wrong moment I could easily end up a vegetable and my plans required me avoiding issues like that if at all possible.

While the cure had been delivered piggybacked on a shot of Counteragent the reversal gene could not be. Or so she claimed. I could have taken a few days and looked over the various notes, but decided not to bother. My time better spent on looking for Arnaud and making certain Bobby continued to recover.

Bobby, who stood just close enough for me to see his shoes since turning my head would be a bad thing right about now.

"You doing okay there, kemosabe?"

"So far," I assured him as I felt the needle be withdrawn.

"Done," The Keeper informed me needlessly. She quickly cleaned the area and applied a light dressing more for show than anything.

I heard the equipment be set back onto the mayo cart followed by the straps being loosened and tossed aside.

"Alright, nice and easy if you would."

She kept her hands on me as I shifted and pushed up into a sitting position. Aside from a dull ache at the base of my skull, I felt fine. "I'm good, Keeper."

Her lips formed a thin line as she obviously fought down the need to say something about my continued neutral bordering on loathing attitude. "I'll need to monitor you for the next twenty-four hours-"

"Claire, he knows. You went over this at least a dozen times," Hobbes reminded her. "It's why were camping here the next couple days."

"Bobby, you don't have to stay. I'm perfectly capable-"

He cut her off again. "I'm staying."

I resisted the urge to laugh, just managed to keep it to my lips twitching at the corners. I slid off the table, bouncing a little on my toes, not feeling the least bit lightheaded. "It'll be fun. We can make a bonfire and roast marshmallows."

"And weiners. Make s'mores and everything," Hobbes added with a grin. He'd actually bought all the stuff necessary to do exactly that just for shits and giggles.

The Keeper frowned. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

I shot her a glare that caused her mouth to snap shut. "Don't you have tests to run to make certain my brain isn't going to turn into goo or something?" Yes, a quick change of subject, but I needed to know that this had worked. That in a matter of days, the ongoing effects of the autoimmune disorder I had developed had been reversed and I'd soon be a real, if Mad, boy again.

She sighed heavily, peeling of set one of the gloves and replacing them with fresh ones. "Of course." She waved at the table. "Please, sit and roll up your sleeve."

I did as asked, glancing over at Hobbes who had pulled out his phone. "You letting them know the deed has been done?"

He nodded. "Monroe insisted I tell her the instant it had been completed. She was not thrilled to be sent out of town for this." Fingers tapping at the tiny screen. The text looking to be novel length.

How much could there be to tell? 'It's done,' should be more than enough.

I shrugged, not surprised my other cheerleader had been sent away at the moment things could have gone horribly wrong. The Keeper finished filling three vials with my blood, placing a cotton ball that she encouraged me to hold in place over the tiny hole in my skin while she placed them in a holder, snapping the gloves off when done.

"Look at it this way if I drop dead the 'Fish can just start over with new glands."

"Fawkes," Hobbes whined. "He wouldn't-"

"Yeah, he would, Hobbesy. It's why the Keeper's been setting up that secret lab here at Perseus. To replace the glands she lost in the quake." I knew because I had defeated the security and recognized the currently empty tanks for precisely what they were. And, with the data she'd gotten from - and given to - Arnaud, she'd be cooking up new glands in no time at all.

The Keeper didn't even bother to argue, just met my stony gaze with one of her own. "You are done for now. I'll text you when I need to perform the next set of tests."

"Sure, Keeper." I hopped off the bed again and turned to Hobbes. "Let's go raid the fridge. I'm hungry."

Hobbes snorted even though the hard line to his lips and eyes gave away his unhappiness with the intel I'd dropped in his lap. "I swear I have no idea where you put all the food you inhale."

I shrugged and patted my flat stomach. I'd lost a lot of weight the last few months thanks to the gland attacking the rest of my body. I needed to eat, to put those pounds back on to get back into fighting trim.

I had a Swiss Miss Motherfucker to catch.

. . .

When I'd first come back from my vacation I'd been lost. Depression and the certainty of my death looming before my eyes. Given an option that terrified me, it made that meeting with Death almost preferable.

Then Arnaud had gone after Hobbes.

Turns out it doesn't take much for my price to change. I'd take that damn shot in the arm to reach my personal goals.

" _Dangerous is wrath concealed. Hatred proclaimed doth lose its chance of wreaking vengeance."_

Yeah, the same dude who gave us the tragedy of Oedipus also hit the nail on the head with this little ditty.

I'd be keeping my reasons for going back to a slavering madman close to the vest.

After all vengeance is a dish best served cold.

 _finis_


End file.
